A Very Fringe High School
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: Just something I wrote to make myself laugh.
1. The Prom

_**Chapter Title:**__ A Very Fringe Prom_

_**Pairing: **__Peter/Liv, Liv/John Scott, Liv/Charlie Francis, Peter/Tessa_

_**Characters: **__Astrid Farnsworth, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop, Walter Bishop, Charlie Francis, Nina Sharp, Phillip Broyles_

_**POV: **__Olivia, Peter, Astrid, Walter_

_**Genres:**__ Family/Friends, Romantical_

_**Summary:**__ Two highschool seniors, a junior, and an overqualified chemistry teacher all try to survive prom night_

_**Spoilers: **__It's AU, son._

_**Author's Note:**__ I did it for the lulz!!! And also because I never had a prom D:_

_**Challenges:**__ Prom, Alternative Universe, teenage!Cast, High School._

_**Word count:**__ 6340_

* * *

Liv hadn't really wanted to go stag, but her boyfriend was putting her in an awkward position by telling her he couldn't make it to her senior prom. She loved him—**a lot**—but John was off building his career as a Marine and she was stuck here, a week before the dance with an extra ticket.

"This sucks hard," she complained as she leaned against the locker next to her friend Beth's.

Beth reorganised the books in her locker again and gave her a matter-of-fact look. "Yeah, well, if I were you, I'd tell Johnny he owes you. You never ask him for anything and you've already spent the sixty bucks on his ticket. Seriously."

"I know. I should," Olivia agreed, then leaned her back against the lockers, her notebooks clutched to her chest. "Man, this sucks! I really wanted him to come! He couldn't make it to prom last year because he was in boot camp, but this year he _has_ no excuse. It's bullshit!"

"An _ultimatum_, Liv. You need to give him an _ultimatum_." Beth nodded, using the new buzzword she had learned yesterday in English Honours. "I'll see you at lunch, right?"

"Yeah, see ya."

Olivia began to walk to English class; she couldn't wait to tell Charlie Francis about these developments. She might have asked him to go with her, but he had already told her that he was taking his neighbor. The hallway was thinning of students, which was nice because it meant she could walk and think without running into anyone. That damn John. How dare he mess up her prom? She had already planned everything perfect and now he—

A voice to her left made her jump. "Miss Dunham, you have an extra ticket for prom?"

Seemingly out of nowhere Dr. Bishop her chemistry teacher had materialized. Still a little startled, she paused in her tracks. "Yes, sir."

He was carrying a stack of papers that he kept brushing his thumb against, seemingly oblivious that he was going to make her late for class. "My son needs that ticket and you could use an escort."

She felt her cheeks get red—how long had he been listening to her talk to Beth? "Oh, well—"

"The tickets have been sold out and his girlfriend Tessa, whom I think is an absolute whore, would not go with him, making him wait until the last minute to decide to go alone. Now he does not have even that option."

She wanted to laugh at someone calling Tessa Amaral an 'absolute whore', but decided against it, so she kept a straight face and said, "And if Peter doesn't want to go with me?"

"He will," he said in an incredibly serious voice. "I also believe that you need a letter of recommendation for your application to the FBI. I'm sure one from a holder of a PhD would be fairly impressive."

Olivia felt her breath catch in her throat. She'd been asking her other teachers for this favour and even though the deadline was approaching for application submission, none of her teachers had responded. "You'd write me that letter?"

"I shall tell Peter that you'd be happy to go with him to prom," he said with a nod.

And with that he left, leaving her alone in the hallway. Still a little stunned at this turn of events, she was brought back to reality by the sound of the bell ringing.

"Shit! Shit!" she cried as she ran down the hallway to her English honours class.

As expected, when she opened the door Ms Sharp was pacing angrily at the front of the class like a wild cat among a group of young gazelle. Her eyes locked onto Olivia's as she quickly took her seat in the back row next to Charlie Francis, captain of the baseball team and her friend since first grade.

"Ms Dunham, you're late," she announced, her voice hinting lightly at annoyance.

Olivia gave a quick nod. "I was talking with Dr. Bishop, Ms Sharp."

"I'll verify that," she said, her shrewd eyes narrowing on her slightly before turning her attention back to the rest of the class. "Now I hope you all have finished those reports on King Lear I assigned…"

Charlie leaned over and whispered, "What were you talking to Dr. Bishop about?"

"Prom tickets," she whispered back.

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you already bought yours."

"I did. Dr. Bishop wants to trade a letter of recommendation for one. For _Peter_ _Bishop_," she said, making a face.

Charlie looked a little stunned then made an expression she couldn't quite place as he leaned back into his seat. "Oh."

Olivia passed her report up the row to be collected with the rest and gave a tired huff. Going to prom with Peter Bishop? Not exactly her idea of a good time. She glanced to the front of the class where in the far right corner Peter Bishop sat. At the moment he was opening his binder, flipping through a number of loose papers, chewing on the end of his ballpoint pen.

Peter Bishop was a sullen character, a loner. He was full of snide looks and catty remarks as well as a juvenile record that few students could rival. Frankly, Olivia suspected the only reason he was still allowed in school was because his father was a teacher and had pulled for a couple of favours. Like he had done to get him the prom ticket.

She'd heard a rumor that Peter had forged papers in his junior year to be a student at MIT, where he managed to do pretty well before he got caught and was promptly thrown out. He was brilliant and troubled, which seemed to be catnip to the girls here at Boston Private High School. He was often the topic of "ooh, isn't he cute?" discussions in girl's gym and she herself was somewhat guilty of checking him out. Though he wasn't really her type—too much of a rule breaker.

* * *

After school Olivia rode the public bus to the district's continuance high school where her sister Rachel went. Rachel, who was two years younger than her, had attended Boston Private in her freshman year until she found out she was pregnant by her boyfriend Gregg. Now she had a one-year-old daughter named Ella, who attended the continuance school's day care while Rach worked to get her diploma.

From there, the three of them rode home on the school's bus. Rach would tell her about her day while Olivia played with Ella. Rachel was her best friend, even though they were so different. The younger of the Dunham sisters was a social creature who wanted to become a housewife and part-time realtor while Olivia's desire to become an FBI agent and lonesome nature had made her an absolute opposite.

That evening they worked together on their homework in the living room while their stepdad worked on paperwork at the dining room table. He was one of the better stepdad's they'd had and while he was a career military hard-ass, he at least tried to be a father to them. After all, he didn't throw Rach out after she got knocked up.

It was a little surprising when the phone rang at 8:05pm; they didn't usually get calls this late. Rachel answered it, walking the cordless to the dining room as it was safe to assume it was for their stepdad. But it wasn't.

"Olivia! It's for you!" she called out then added in a sing song voice, "And it's a _boy_…"

Olivia glared at her sister as she accepted the phone. "Hello?"

"Miss Olivia Dunham?" a male voice asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah…?"

"This is Peter Bishop. I go to school with you."

She almost snickered at the formality. "I know who you are."

"Walter said you're going to give me a ticket to prom and I'll escort you there?"

"Yes," she replied, turning away from her sister, who was making faces at her.

"Well, I wasn't sure if I was going to go."

Olivia frowned at this. "But your dad said you really wanted to go."

"Walter doesn't know what I want and I'm sure you'd rather go with friends," he said snippily.

"My friends are going with dates and I'm not going to be the only girl going alone," she argued.

"An independent young woman like you is intimidated to break social norms?" he said sarcastically.

"I'm not going to consider it a date, just a favour!" she snapped and even though he couldn't see her, she emphasized her point by put her hand on her hip. "Look, I need to know if I can take the tags off my dress or not."

She had, in fact, already taken the tags off the dress, but she wanted something to hang over his head.

"All right," he finally grumbled. "I'll pick you up around seven."

* * *

Prom night arrived four days later. Olivia could hardly get home fast enough to get out of her clothes and into her prom dress, spending well over an hour fixing her hair and painting her nails.

Her dress was something entirely fairytale, the first one she spotted in the Macy's Formals window display. A fitted pink bodice with a fluffy tulle skirt that glittered…she spun in front of the bathroom door's full-length mirror, smiling at her image, feeling like a princess. This was the year the school board finally allowed girls to wear strapless dresses and Olivia believed the decision couldn't be better. While her stepdad always seemed overly conservative about things, this time he hadn't argued with her about the gown and she had been secretly wondering if her stars were aligning. But of course, John had fucked it up by saying, _"Oh, I'm busy that night, Liv."_

_**Bastard**_.

"LIV!"

Her sister's hollering shook her out of her thoughts.

She opened the bathroom door and looked at Rachel. "Yeah?"

"Am I going to do your make-up or not?"

Olivia was already regretting recruiting her sister for this task. "I still don't see why I can't just wear mascara."

Rach rolled her eyes as she pushed her aside to open one of the bathroom counter's drawers. "Because it's prom, Liv. Sheesh, I don't even know how you leave the house without foundation on."

"It doesn't feel good," she whined as she hopped up on to the bathroom counter.

"So I heard you're going with Peter Bishop." Rachel waggled her eyebrows as she pulled handfuls of plastic cosmetic containers to set next to her. "What's that about?"

"He bought John's ticket off me."

"And you're making him take you?" Her sister laughed.

"I'm not making him do anything."

"Yeah, whatever. I heard what you said when he called." Her sister held up a makeup sponge covered with foundation. "Now hold still."

"Not too much, Rach!" she squealed as her younger sister proceeded to cover her face with the cold, creamy mixture.

"Shut up, Liv. You're going to look hot," Rachel argued.

Olivia continued to squirm. "I don't want to look hot. What if the FBI gets a hold of a prom picture of me and decides that I'm not what they had in mind?"

Her sister rolled her eyes. "Olivia, are you serious? The FBI isn't going to look at your prom pictures."

"They could!"

"Close your eyes," she instructed and then began to apply the eyeshadow to her face. "You know, you were really lucky you were able to afford this dress. It's really pretty."

"Yeah, it cost me all my poker winnings," Olivia huffed, still feeling the ache of an empty wallet.

"You know, you're going to get in trouble if you're caught gambling." Rachel warned and Olivia knew they were both thinking of their stepdad. "He's already asked how you got the money to by a dress and tickets and I had to tell him that you had saved up from your summer job as a life guard."

They were quiet for a moment and then Olivia decided to ask her younger sister a question that had been bothering her for the past few days. "Rach, should I have given John an ultimatum? You know, _'Come with me to prom or else'_?"

"Well, you could have. But is it really worth it to hold something over a guy's head? I mean, Gregg was a really great guy when we were dating…responsible, nice…but Ella's his baby too, and I had to hold her over his head to get child support." Olivia opened her eyes and saw her sister wiping away tears. "I'm sorry. This is your night and I'm getting all emotional."

"I'm always here for you, Rachel." Olivia wrapped her sister into a tight hug.

"I know." Rachel pulled away. "Well, it's almost time for you to go."

They left the bathroom and after Olivia found her clutch, she ran into her mother in the dining room.

"Olivia, we pulled together a little money so you could get your picture taken," her mom said, holding out a few twenties to her.

She was a little surprised at the generosity. "Oh, thank you."

Her mom looked expectantly at their stepdad, who was sitting at the dining room table. "Honey, don't you want to see Olivia's dress?"

He glanced up from his paper work to look her over and then said, "You're not going out with that much eye shadow."

"Awww," Rachel complained while Olivia mouthed a silent _'Thank you,'_ in his direction.

Olivia hurried back to the bathroom and washed the majority of the eyeshadow and sticky foundation off. She did opt to add another layer of mascara on.

From the livingroom she could hear her sister yell, "Hey Liv! Your date's here!"

"He's not my date, Rachel!" she hollered back.

In the bathroom door way her sister appeared, holding her daughter. "Look at your aunt, Ella! Isn't she prett—hey! Why'd you take off the foundation? At least put some finishing powder on. Sheesh."

"Fine," she grumbled, dusting the powder across her face.

Satisfied with how she looked, Olivia ran to the front door. Clutch in hand she could see her family wasn't going to give her a grand send off like they do on television. She pulled open the door and there stood Peter Bishop, dressed in a nice suit, arm half raised as though he was about to knock on the door. She was opened her mouth to say he looked good, but her beat her to the chase.

He looked her over and gave a sarcastic, "Like the dress, Barbie."

"Thanks," she replied, just as snide.

"Have fun, Liv," Rachel said, balancing Ella on her left hip.

"Thanks, Rach. See you later," Olivia replied as she hurried down the walkway after Peter.

He graciously held the passenger door an old Vista Cruiser open for her and to her surprise she saw her chemistry teacher sitting in the backseat.

"Good evening, Dr. Bishop," she greeted as Peter shut the door behind her and walked around the front of the station wagon.

"Peter bought you a corsage," the older man said excitedly and pointed to the dashboard where in fact a small plastic florist's box waited.

The younger of the Bishops climbed into the driver's seat and took the box off the dashboard, suddenly looking a little shy. "I wasn't sure if it was your type of flower."

A tiger lily on a vibrant orange ribbon was unveiled to her as he opened the box's lid.

"It's really pretty," she admitted.

"Chest or wrist?" he asked, lifting the delicate flower out.

"Wrist," she said, holding out her hand. He carefully tied it around her wrist and she was flattered that he had made the effort to "Thank you, Peter. I really like it."

Peter gave her the slightest hint of a smile before turning to look at his father. "Walter, buckle your seat belt. I'm not telling you again."

"You have a very nice dress," the older man complimented.

She suddenly felt very self-conscious in all this pink. "Thank you, Dr. Bishop."

The rest of the ride to the school was spent in absolute silence. Peter once again opened the door for her and she wondered if such courteous nature came naturally to him or if he was doing it because his father was there. Not that it really mattered. Peter Bishop was still a pretty big jerk and after tonight she'd never have to deal with him again.

At the door she produced the tickets and before they could escape to their own social circles, Dr. Bishop gave a warning, "Peter…" then steered them to the photo booth that had been set up in a corner of the gym.

"My son would like to have his picture taken for prom," Dr. Bishop said cheerfully to the photographer as he pulled out his wallet.

Peter looked incredibly embarrassed and took her hand to stand in front of the painted beach scene.

"C'mon. My mom is expecting you to be in it, too," he said apologetically.

"Try to look like we're having a good time?" she offered.

He nodded and draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.

"Smile!" the photographer instructed right before a brilliant burst of light went off from the flash.

"And another one, Peter!" Dr. Bishop requested.

Remembering the money in her clutch, Olivia said, "I'll need one, too."

"Smile!" the photographer said yet again and she wondered for a moment if a bright flash could cause blindness especially in this dim gym.

She produced her own money and they stood for yet another picture before stumbling away from the set to write down their names and homeroom on a form the photographer had.

"Now will you leave us alone? You've got your pictures!" Peter snapped at his father and Dr. Bishop nodded happily before wandering over to the food table.

"Hey, I'm going to go dance," she said quickly before he could be rude to her and she hurried away to find Charlie.

"Hey, good lookin'," Charlie greeted when she finally found him hanging around the other baseball players near the bleachers.

She gave him a quick hug. "Hey, you. How are you?"

"Pretty good, pretty good. Some of the guys were talking about spiking the punch, so I suggest you drink the bottled water if you get thirsty," he advised.

"Thanks, I remember that," she said making a face. "Hey, where's your date?"

"Astrid? Oh, I'm not dating her. I just brought her here," he quickly assured her.

"I know you're not dating her, Charlie. Duh. I just wondered where she was."

"Um, I really don't know," he said with a shrug. "Wanna dance?"

Olivia smiled. "I'd love to."

About an hour and forty-five minutes later she found herself tired and needing to sit down; dancing in high heels for long periods of time was obviously not one of her talents. She made her way to the tables that had been arranged off the dance floor and to her surprise found Peter Bishop sitting by himself.

"What are you up to, weirdo?" she said as she pulled out one of the folding chairs and sat down next to him.

"Watching," he said blandly.

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're busy dancing."

She wondered how long he'd been waiting and she felt her cheeks get red. "Oh, did you want to dance with me?"

He shrugged. "Maybe once or twice. Something slow, because I don't find bumping and grinding attractive."

The song currently playing was slow so she stood up and held out her hand. "C'mon, let's dance."

She led him to the dance floor and wrapped her hands around his neck while he placed his on her hips. "Watch my toes, Peter," she instructed.

"Watching your toes, Boss," he said in a pretty good Paul Newman impression.

"Cool Hand Luke fan? Maybe you're not as bad as I thought," she admitted with a grin.

He winked and she felt her stomach fill with butterflies. "I'm not bad at _all_, Miss Dunham."

"So why didn't your girlfriend want to go to prom?" she asked.

"She thought it was too juvenile."

"And why did you want to go?"

"Because it's not juvenile. Besides it would have meant another night at home with Walter."

She smiled. "Aw, he can't be that bad."

"You only see him for a few hours a week. I _live_ with him," he grumbled.

"He's really fond of you," she said kindly.

"I know."

Olivia wondered if she could tickle the back of his neck with one of her corsage's petals. "What about your mom? Can't she act as a buffer between the two of you?"

"My parents are divorced and my mom lives a few hours away."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't know."

He shrugged. "It's okay. My mom is a very emotionally distant person."

"And your dad is the opposite."

"Exactly. I'd rather know if someone is angry with me then have to deal with passive aggressive shit." He rolled his eyes. "And she likes me to do "cultured things" like study Farsi."

Her eyes widened. "You speak Farsi?"

"Yeah. I mean, where the hell am I going to use that? Does she expect me to run off to Bagdad?"

"Is it true you've been arrested seven times?" she blurted out.

"Yes," he said standing a little taller and she could see a very faint smile on his lips.

"I want to work for the FBI," she said as though to say, _'I don't approve of that.'_

His hold on her tightened slightly. "I know."

"You do?"

"My dad told me."

"Oh."

"Maybe you could have him write you a letter of recommendation," he suggested.

"Maybe," she said unable to meet his eyes, suddenly feeling bad that she was hanging out with him for that very purpose. "Okay, he already offered to. In return for the ticket."

"I know," he said with a nod.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

She glared at him. "Then why did you suggest it?"

"My dad told me on accident. He said he didn't want you to know that I knew because he said he wanted to guilt you into being nice to me."

"What?!"

Peter began to laugh. "I know! He's terrible, isn't he?"

He pulled a flask out of his breast pocket and took a quick sip, then offered, "Want some?"

"Sure," she said, but not before checking to make sure no one was looking. "Whiskey."

He took the flask back from her. "Not so loud, Dunham. I don't want to have this confiscated or worse: have to share it with someone."

Olivia suddenly wanted to hang out with Peter Bishop. "Let's get outta here. I'm kinda hungry."

He offered her his arm. "Let's go to IHOP."

* * *

Astrid Farnsworth, the most accomplished student Boston Private had ever seen, was incredibly lonely this evening. Sitting by herself at one of the tables, she watched the other older students dancing. She sighed. It really wasn't any fun to go to school social events when she was barely fourteen and everyone else here had already reached their seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays. And since only juniors and seniors were allowed at prom, she didn't have any of her freshmen friends to hang out with. Even Charlie Francis, her neighbor who offered to take her to prom tonight, had seemed to drift off to socialise with the other baseball players.

'_Maybe the air is just stuffy,'_ she thought to herself. _'If I go outside maybe I'll feel a little better.'_

So she stood up from her table and found the door hidden behind the large paper maiche palmtrees, which wasn't being guarded by any of the teachers. She slipped out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The back of the gym butted against the baseball field so she pulled off her high heels to stand in the grass without twisting her ankles. Someone sighed loudly and she spun around to look at her right. Sitting against the gym wall about twenty feet away was Dr. Bishop, the advanced chemistry teacher.

She'd heard that Dr. Bishop was a little off, slightly disconnected from reality. He had the prom's clear plastic, crystal-cut punch bowl on the ground beside him. She made to turn around and leave, but he seemed to have heard her and he turned to look at her.

"Hello," he said quite amicably. "Someone spiked the punch."

"Ah," she replied, feeling awkward, unsure what else to say.

He held up a plastic bag holding plastic cups. "Care for some?"

She shook her head and began to take a step backwards to the door. "I really shouldn't—"

"It tastes like a fruit cocktail, if you're into that kind of thing. I'm not. I'm not a fruit cocktail kind of guy," he said, ladling some of the punch into one of the cups.

Astrid figured she couldn't get in trouble if he was offering it—after all, she could take him down with her if worse came to worse.

"Just a sip," she said, accepting the punch and she sat down on the grass next to him.

"Tasty. In a fruit cocktail kind of way." He glanced upwards. "How lucky we are to see the stars tonight."

"Yep." She took a hesitant sip of the punch. The alcohol had been incredibly watered down, as had the punch for that matter. "Aren't you supposed to be chaperoning?"

He shrugged. "Probably. Mostly I didn't want to be at home alone tonight. My son Peter is the only company I have."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," she said politely.

"No, don't be. I adore my son. He is the greatest gift in my life." He looked down from the stars to her. "He doesn't feel the same way though."

She had seen Peter Bishop around school before and usually he was walking side by side with his father. "Really?"

"He thinks I'm crazy, which I'm not. Well, at least not clinically. Eccentric, maybe."

She nodded. "I can believe that."

"Peter could really become something if only he'd apply himself. Did you know he managed to forge the paperwork to get himself accepted into MIT?" Dr. Bishop suddenly looked quite proud. "He was there a full month and a half before one of the professor's recognised him! Can you believe that?"

"That's pretty impressive," she admitted.

"It's extraordinary! I'd like to see some other seventeen year old try to pull that off!"

"What was his major?"

"Undeclared, though I read some of his chemistry papers. I bet he would have followed in his old man's footsteps." The older man suddenly looked a little crestfallen. "And now he's back here, his poor mind being underexploited."

She took another sip from the punch. She really hated seeing people upset. "So he's over sixteen?"

"He turned eighteen in August, my dear," he said before slurping noisily on the punch.

"Then he could quit high school."

He nodded. "Yes, that's true."

"And yet he hasn't. Maybe he doesn't want to disappoint you. You know, maybe he wants you to see him graduate," she said very sagely.

"Oh. Oh! I hadn't thought about it like that!" He grinned at her. "You're very clever."

She felt much better now that he had complimented her and that he was feeling better. "Thank you."

"You're the colour of sunflowers and root beer."

Astrid glanced down at the cheerful yellow of her dress. "Oh. I never thought of it that way."

"I like the combination." He pointed to her hair. "Is it expensive to get yourself ready for prom?"

"Yeah. I had to get my hair done and my nails…"

He tugged at his suit's sleeves. "I used to wear this suit every Sunday to church, my finest one. Now it's just for fancy occasions."

She was a practical person, too. "I'll probably keep this dress for homecoming next year."

He offered up the ladle full of pink punch. "More?"

"Just a little." She allowed him to top of the cup once more then asked. "What church do you belong to?"

"The church of science and facts," he said with a smirk and toast to the stars. "Oh, you mean _before_. Catholic."

He snapped his fingers and looked at her. "You're the girl who skipped a few grades," he declared.

"That's me," she said smiling.

He gave her a funny look. "Why haven't I had you in my class yet?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to get into your class."

"I have a summer school extra curricular course. I will enroll you in that. And then in your senior year you will be my class assistant."

While Astrid wanted to major in music and language, she really did love science. "Really?"

He nodded and managed to spill a bit of the punch down the front of dress shirt. "You and I will have a lot of fun. Most of the kids are scared of me!" he said as he dabbed at the soft pink stain with his tie.

"Well, there are a lot of weird stories about you," she admitted.

He looked rather smug. "And most of them are true."

They both chuckled and then Dr. Bishop asked, "Where do you suppose my son is?"

She thought for a moment. "I don't know. I didn't see him in there."

He stood up and offered his hand to help her up as well. "Let's find him. This is pretty good punch."

* * *

Dunham sat across the table from him, grinning impishly as she asked, "Okay?"

Peter looked down at the card in his hand and then back at her. "Yeah."

"Four of clubs," she announced.

"No way!" he laughed through a mouthful of hashbrowns. "Do it again!"

They were midway through their early, early morning breakfast; Dunham had picked biscuits and gravy with a salad while he had a big plate of pancakes with a big plate of eggs. They'd found a deck of old playing cards under the driver's seat and after he'd preformed a round of magic tricks by passing half the deck into his root beer bottle, she was showing him what she could do.

She'd let down her hair and began to reshuffle the deck as he continued to stuff his face. Once she'd finished mixing the cards, he selected another one, making sure she didn't catch a peek. He stole a quick glance at the card's face and she asked again, "Okay?"

"Do it!" he cheered her on.

She touched her fingers to her temples momentarily as though she were channeling some supernatural force and declared, "Queen of diamonds."

"No way! No fuckin' way, dude!" he laughed, slamming his hands on the table. "You can count cards."

"It's cool, huh? That's all I would do when I was a kid. I'm sure that if I was a child today, I would be diagnosed with something. I just have this thing for numbers. I see them once and remember them the rest of my life," she said, her hand casually tossing her hair back over her shoulder, giving him a playful smile. It looked like she was about to say something more when she glanced down at the small clutch she had on the table. "Hold on, that's my cellphone."

She was still smiling at him when she answered. "Hello?" Her eyes became big. "John!"

Peter lowered his gaze and picked at his eggs with his fork as she continued talking.

"No, I'm not at the prom—wait, are you?" Peter glanced up to see her smile had disappeared and an irritated frown taking its place. "Why are you _there_?"

She paused and picked a crouton out of her salad. "To surprise me? The only thing that surprises me is that you bailed out on me and now you're there. I went with someone else." She waved the crouton around, looking disgusted. "Well, I couldn't return the tickets, _John_." She crunched on the crouton and Peter mixed a piece of pancake in the yellow egg yolk on his plate. "We're at dinner—I mean, breakfast." Her eyes met his. "No, I'm not telling you where. I'm eating."

Olivia promptly snapped her phone shut and tossed it onto the booth's table.

"Boys," she said with a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes.

"You're not in trouble are you?"

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "If he can't be bothered to come to prom with me, he certainly doesn't get to have breakfast with me. Besides, he doesn't know magic tricks."

Peter smirked, feeling a little better. Their waitress returned with the receipt and both he and Dunham made a grab for it.

"No, let me pay. You bought the tickets," he insisted.

"No, I'll feel bad," she countered.

"Dude, my dad will kill me if I do not pay the ticket. He gave me strict orders to be a gentleman to you—"

She gave a cocky smile. "Is that so?"

"He's expecting a report back," he grumbled.

"Then tell him you paid for it," she said with a shrug.

He snatched up the ticket before they could argue further. "He's expecting the report from you."

"Oh." Her phone began to ring again and she checked the caller ID. "Speak of the devil."

Peter raised his eyebrows as she answered it. "Hello, Dr. Bishop. Yes, Peter is with me." Suddenly her face became deep red. "No, we're at the IHOP."

She handed over the phone. "He wants to speak to you."

"Hey, Walter," he greeted.

His father's cheerful voice came over, slightly static sounding. "Hello, Peter! Are you enjoying pancakes? I thought perhaps that you might be in the back seat somewhere with Miss Dunham!"

Peter felt his own face get red. "No, Walter."

"I'll meet you at IHOP then!" his father declared.

"Wait—" he protested, but Walter had already hung up.

Peter handed the phone back to Dunham, feeling a little sick. "My father said he's going to meet us here.

* * *

Walter was walking with the young woman in the yellow dress to the IHOP that was a few blocks away. He kicked a paper cup in the gutter and realised he had no idea who the young lady was.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She gave him a friendly smile and offered out her hand. "Astrid. Astrid Farnsworth."

He gave her hand a firm shake and promised, "I shall try to remember that."

"I can write it down for you if you like," she offered.

"That would be good. Come to my class on Monday and I'll have you sign the papers so you can be my assistant next year!"

The crossed the street and she asked, "Why don't you drive? I've always seen Peter driving. Are you just giving him practice?"

"My license was taken away," Walter admitted sadly.

She was obviously a sympathetic person. "That sucks."

"It does. But it gives me an excuse to drive places with my son, so I suppose it could be worse."

"Is Peter going to go to MIT in the fall?"

"Those hacks banned him, so no, he will not," he said, resisting the urge to shake his fist in the general direction of MIT. "Wait, who did you come with? Are you abandoning a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?" he added slyly.

She looked a little baffled. "My neighbor Charlie took me. Remember? I told him I was going home early?"

He could somewhat recall her talking to a dark haired boy before they left the gymnasium. "Oh yes. I'm sorry my dear. My brain can be a little faulty at times." Across the street in the IHOP's mostly empty parking lot he spotted his son and his date. "Look! There they are!"

* * *

"Hey, Walter," Peter greeted sourly as his father came bounding across the parking lot to them.

"Good early morning, Peter," he said cheerfully.

"Hi," Olivia greeted

Walter pushed the girl who was with him towards Peter. "This is Miss Farnsworth. She kept me company for the evening."

The younger girl gave a nervous wave to both of them. "Hi."

Peter's eyes narrowed on the pink sploch on his father's dress shirt, now able to smell the faintest hint of alcohol on the older man's breath. "Walter, have you been drinking?"

"Someone spiked the punch!" Walter said as though it were an excuse

He jabbed his finger in the direction of Farnsworth. "Were you letting her drink?"

"I only had a sip!" the girl protested.

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose while Olivia giggled. "Walter…"

"We need to give her a ride home. She's going to be my lab assistant next year!" his father said, completely ignoring his frustration.

"Fine. Everyone in," he said, pointing to the station wagon; all of a sudden being at home in bed seemed very inviting.

The ride back to Olivia's house was relatively quietly, just the sound of NPR playing quietly. While he hadn't expected to give a ride home to the younger girl in the backseat, at least she seemed to distract his father enough that he could say good night to Dunham. He pulled up in front of her house and hurried out of the Vista Cruiser to open her door.

Together they walked up to her front door and even though he wished they could have spent more time hanging out, he knew she was still probably only doing this for the letter from his dad. He held out his hand to her.

"Uh, so, thank you for the nice evening," he said, a little tongue-tied.

She looked a bit surprised as well, but smiled and slipped her hand into his. "Thank you for the wonderful breakfast."

"If you learn some more card tricks, maybe we could do it again," he offered, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"I'd like that," she said softly.

He pulled his hand away and took a step back. "I'll see you around then."

She winked. "Definitely."


	2. The First Date

**Chapter Title:** _A Very Fringe Date_

**Pairing: **_Peter/Liv, Liv/John Scott, Peter/Tessa_

**Characters: **_Astrid Farnsworth, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop, Rachel Dunham, Walter Bishop, Charlie Francis, Stanford Harris, Phillip Broyles, _

**POV: **_Olivia, Peter, Astrid_

**Genres:**_ Family/Friends, Romantical, Humour, Angst_

**Spoilers: **_It's AU, son._

**Warnings:** _It's long and unbeta'd_

**Challenges:** _Home Cooked_ _Dinner, Bicycle, Salad, Zodiac Killer, Broyles_

**Part of a Series?:** _Yes, "A Very Fringe High School"_

**Word count:**

* * *

Olivia sat on the edge of her bed, looking back and forth between her left and right hand. At the moment she held a folded piece of binder paper and the home cordless. She kept reading the numbers over and over, memorising them the moment she opened the piece of paper in the first place, memorising the six words that Peter Bishop had written.

"_In case you wanted to call."_

Last week she had found the folded note in her locker, obviously having been slipped through the vents to find its way on top of a forgotten sweater and some crumpled fliers that the cheerleading team had been passing out. It had left her hands clammy and her heart racing, but she didn't want to look desperate so she kept tucked in her jean pocket since last Friday.

Today was Tuesday and Olivia had decided that she had waited an appropriate amount of time, but finding the courage to actually punch the numbers into the phone was much harder than she had expected. _'C'mon, Dunham,'_ she thought to herself in the tone she assumed she'd be using with criminals in the future. _'Are you going to let this scare you off? It's Peter F'ing Bishop. If anyone should be nervous about this phone call, it should be him! He's just a troublemaker who, if anything, doesn't deserve your time and attention! You're pretty good looking! You've dated a Marine! You've been accepted into the FBI! Now call him up and show him what you're made off!'_

"Yeah!" she whispered, all pumped up as she began to dial the phone number.

The phone rang once, then twice and almost a third before an anxious sounding Dr. Bishop answered. "Hello? President Faust?"

All of her charisma left, leaving her just as nervous as before. "Uh, no. I was calling for Peter?"

"Oh. Hold on." She could imagine him holding the phone out as he yelled, "Peter! Telephone!"

She waited for a moment before someone else came on the line. "Hello?"

Her heart began to race again. "Hi. This is Olivia. Dunham. We went to prom—"

"Yeah, I know," he said quickly.

There was an awkward silence and Olivia used one of the lamest opening lines she could have possibly managed. "So…what are you up to?"

"Watching "Transformers" in Spanish. You?"

"Not reading the most boring Shakespeare play ever," she said, glancing at the school copy of the Bard's most well known romance that she had tossed casually onto her nightstand.

He sniggered. "Yeah I hate Romeo and Juliet, too. 'Romeo, Romeo, where fore art thou Romeo, uh, kiss from a rose… or something',"

"That was awful. Peter, seriously, don't quit your dayjob," she said, shaking her head and smiling.

He gave another laugh then asked, "So, why are you taking me away from my movie?"

"I, I, uh," she said, suddenly finding herself stumbling over words.

"Ooh, have I left you tongue-tied?"

She could _hear_ how big the smile he wore was, almost like a challenge. "I wanted to know if we could do dinner sometime. Or something."

He gave a surprised, "Oh."

There was another awkward silence and Olivia began to wonder if perhaps he hadn't heard her. Or that his phone had died. Or his section of town had lost power.

"You still there?" she asked timidly.

His voice was far more cheerful than she had expected. "Uh, let me brainstorm a bit."

Her heart fluttered and she couldn't keep from smiling. "Seriously?"

"I'll have something figured out by tomorrow. Is that okay?"

She wondered if she was imagining the shy tone in his voice and tried to sound casual as she replied, "That's okay."

"Good." He made a laughing noise again. "Now let me get back to my movie."

She didn't have to look in the mirror to know she was blushing. "Buenos noches."

"What?"

She felt like such a dork. "That's Spanish for good night."

"Oh. Buenos noches, Miss Dunham."

* * *

The next day at school before classes started, Olivia was a little surprised that Peter found her in the hallways, almost cornering her by the drinking fountains.

"Hey," he greeted.

She pulled her books closer to her chest and pretended she hadn't been thinking about him since last night. "Oh, hey."

"So, I wanted to know if you wanted to come have dinner at my house. Walter wants to get to know you better."

This surprised Olivia. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah," he said looking a little embarrassed.

She smiled and nodded, really liking the idea. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Okay, so Friday. Would you like to dinner at my house?" he said in an incredibly formal tone.

"That would be really nice. I'd like that." She suddenly remembered she wouldn't be able to take a bus over to his house. "Hey, you'll need to give me a ride."

He gave her a skeptical look. "I've seen you with a car before. A 1982 silver Mercedes 380 series."

She sighed forlornly as she thought about her former vehicle. "I sold it during Christmas break. I need the money to move to Quantico to become an FBI agent."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I can't imagine selling my first car," he said sympathetically.

Olivia shrugged. "We all make sacrifices."

"Okay, am I going to pick you up from your house?"

She grimace and snipped, "No. My stupid boss at the Swirly Hut needs me to work after school on Friday. So you'll have to pick me up at the mall."

He nodded and pulled out a pen, poising it over the back of his hand. "What time do you get off of work?"

"Seven."

"I'll be there at seven then," he said, writing it down on the back of his hand.

And with that he turned around and walked away.

* * *

Friday classes always ended at one-thirty, so Peter shuffled his father to the Vista Cruiser after the final bell rang and made the first stop of the afternoon at Barnes and Noble to buy a cookbook. Sure they had cookbooks at home, ones that family members had provided after his parent's divorce, ones that they'd bought at yard sales, ones that they'd inherited after Grandma died. But Peter had spent hours scouring for the perfect recipe and Walter said he wouldn't cook a recipe to which had no picture (which meant _ALL_ of their cookbooks), so they determined that buying a new cookbook would be best.

"Ah, I've found the perfect dish!" Walter declared as they sat in the aisles of the cookbook section of the bookstore, scouring for something that looked acceptable for a first date.

Peter looked at what his father was pointing at. "What?"

"A cooked chicken with parsnips and carrots and rice pilaf." His father jabbed his finger on the picture of the food. "Look at the photograph! They used a blue plate!"

"Okay, fine," Peter said, rushing his father with the book to the front of the store to buy it.

The next stop was to the market to buy groceries. Going out in public with Walter was a complete chore especially when the occasion would involve food. Usually they went late in the evening so there was less chance of people being around if Walter went into one of his fits which seemed to work for the most part. Today though, they were running on somewhat of a time crunch, so Peter was allowing his father out of his sight to retrieve items. So far he had brought back two of the ingredients needed and was scouting for a third.

"What the fuck is a parsnip?" Peter grumbled, studying the vast array of vegetables and greens.

Obviously his choice in wording offended the soccer mom shopping next to him and he rolled his eyes as she glared at him. He pushed the cart around while looking for a neon sign that pointed to the offending vegetable while Walter was off with the very specific job of locating chicken bullion on aisle five "next to the matzo meal".

And once all the items for the meal were gathered, his father got into one of his little moods, saying his blood sugar was running low and that he absolutely needed a Twix bar. Peter refused, insisting that he packed granola bars in the back of the station wagon. Walter began to throw a tantrum, so Peter threw a handful of the candy bars onto the conveyer belt, trying to shut his father up.

They were halfway home when Walter, reading the cookbook, asked what a "roasting rack" was, so that meant turning around and trying to find a store that might possess such an appliance. Peter eventually saw a sign for a store called "Cook's Kitchen," and dramatically pulled into the parking lot. Fifteen minutes and seventy-six dollars later, Peter ran back to the Vista Cruiser with both roasting rack and roasting pan in hand, absolutely ready to cook what was quickly becoming the most complicated first date dinner ever. EVER.

Finally home, Peter helped wash the vegetables and prep them, but his father seemed frustrated that there was more than one cook in the kitchen.

"Peter, go do your homework or watch some television. I have this all under control," the older man insisted.

Peter was a little nervous to leave his father on his own, but figured it would be easier to just let him have his way. After all, he could run in to assist if need be.

"Fine."

* * *

Two hours later, Peter decided that he had waited long enough check up on his father—his homework was complete, he'd watched two episodes of Man vs Wild, and he'd also managed to find a rag to dust the living room with during the commercials. He sauntered into the kitchen, expecting a tasty albeit messy looking dinner.

"So how's it coming? Sure smells—"

Peter quickly took in the sight of the kitchen, which was a mess. There were pots and pans scattered across the counters along with the majority of the ingredients still untouched. His eyes locked on the still wrapped poultry and he felt his stomach drop.

"Walter, you haven't started the chicken. What have you been doing?" he said, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread rush through him.

"I've been cooking!" Walter insisted.

Peter looked into the single steaming pot on the stove. "Two pounds of rice? What are we going to do with two pounds of rice, Walter?"

"The recipe calls for rice, Peter," his father said in the most _'Duh'_ voice ever.

"Rice pilaf. With _chicken_. And carrots with parsnips."

"Well, I didn't see you in here helping me," his father snapped, throwing his dishtowel on the ground.

"You didn't want me to! And god dammit, it's almost seven!" Peter felt like tearing his hair out. "Walter, I swear to god, do not mess anything up. I have to go get Olivia."

The drive to the mall seemed to take forever and Peter checked his reflection three separate times in the Vista Cruiser's window before actually entering the mall, not entirely pleased stress acne was occurring, but there was really nothing he could do. He rode the escalator to the third floor where the food court was located and strode over to the Swirly Hut, purveyor of fine frozen goods. Indeed Miss Dunham and a co-worker were wiping down the countertops as they chatted.

Peter approached the counter and demanded, "Are you done yet?"

Olivia gave him a smile. "Hey, hold on."

He thumped his fist on the counter. "Hey, maybe I'm a paying customer."

"Hey, maybe you're not," she retorted.

He pulled a waded up five dollar bill out of his back pocket and tossed it on the counter. "Hey, what do you call this?"

She threw the money back at him. "Something you shouldn't spend in one place."

Peter looked at her co-worker. "Does she always treat people like this?"

The girl, whose nametag read "Beth", smiled mischievously at him. "Only the good looking ones."

Dunham put on her best serious face and planted her hands firmly on the counter top. "Stop scaring away business."

He glanced around the empty food court and smirked. Leaning on the counter, he looked over her red and yellow polyester shirt. "You're going to change, right? I'm not taking home a Swirly Girl."

Olivia looked at her co-worker and planted her hands on her hips. "Can you _believe_ him?"

"You're not very nice," Beth said innocently.

Peter smiled wolfishly. "Only to the good looking ones."

Olivia's cheeks turned bright red and an impressed grin spread across her lips. Peter felt rather smug to have won her over with fake insults and what he considered his "natural charm". Dunham turned to Beth and said in a rather giddy tone,

"Hey, close for me."

"Smack him if he keeps up like that," Beth said as Olivia hopped over the counter to stand next to him.

"I will!" she said cheerfully as they left the food court together.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked as she veered off towards the women's restrooms with her backpack.

She plucked at red and yellow button up she was wearing. "Changing."

Peter suddenly felt bad for teasing her about her work uniform. "Oh, hey, no. I was just kidding about that whole Swirly Girl thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Just wait here."

Three minutes later she returned with a different shirt on, a very nice looking blouse, in fact.

Dunham smiled as she spun around. "How's this?"

"Conservative," Peter said, offering her his arm.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Thank you."

Peter had to admit, he was really beginning to like Olivia Dunham. Sure, she was a bit uptight and somewhat of a stick in the mud, not to mention an advocate for following the rules, which in his book equaled "boring", but with her it didn't seem to be such a drag. He was used to girls who liked getting wild on Friday nights, ones who had more parking tickets than common sense, the kinds that wore heavy false lashes and expensive pushup bras until they could afford their implants.

Peter looked Dunham over regarding that last part. Her pale lavender shirt buttoned up almost to her neck and it looked like she was possibly wearing lip-gloss. He smiled. She looked okay, which meant Walter wouldn't be calling her a whore. It was a little unusual to see someone his age so dressed down as a form of dressing up, but Dunham pulled it off well. She definitely seemed to be a one-woman army, sort of like him. Well, he was more of a one-man army.

In the parking lot, he opened her door for her and as they cruised the streets he allowed her to pick the radio station. However, things didn't remain so well when she picked something off the floorboard and turned it over in her hand.

"What's this?" she asked curiously and as they stopped at a red light, he glanced over.

"Oh, that's Tess' old wallet."

She popped the snap open and glanced inside. "She's twenty one? I thought she was in high school."

He rolled his eyes. "It's called a fake ID, Duhnam."

"What does she need that for?"

"_Really_?" he asked sarcastically but then caught sight of how hurt she looked. He carefully took the wallet out of her hands and put it in the side of his door. "Just forget about it. She and I are history."

" 'kay," she said softly and turned her attention out the window.

The rest of the car ride back to his house was in awkward silence and he didn't know if it was because he had admitted he wanted nothing to do with Tess anymore or if it was because he had insulted her intelligence or if it was possibly because he didn't always watch his tongue. Regardless, he felt so stupid for always acting this way, like he was a fifth grader or something.

When he pulled into the driveway, he made the effort to show her he wasn't a total jackass by opening her door for her and carrying her backpack.

Peter dramatically opened the front door and yelled out, "We're here, Walter!"

From the kitchen, his father shouted, "This fucking chicken—"

"As you can see, your presence is a bit of a big deal," Peter grumbled, pushing Olivia into the living room and seating her on the couch.

She smiled at him and he quickly removed his hands from her shoulders. "What's for dinner?"

"At this rate? Two pounds of rice."

* * *

Astrid Farnsworth rode her beloved Schwinn beach cruiser to the Bishop residence, singing quietly as she pedaled past houses that were far fancier than the apartment complex she lived in. Though Little Hill Apartments really weren't that bad at all, she just thought it would be nice to have a yard and a home with thicker walls.

An old Vista Cruiser parked in a driveway gave away the Bishops' house and she slowed to a stop. There was a big tree in the front yard and she leaned her bicycle against its large trunk, careful not to bang the wicker handle basket against the bark; her two younger cousins had deemed her bike basket "dorky" but she really liked it. Hurrying up to the front of the house, still quietly singing and giving accompanying hand movements to the music she was playing in her head. She knocked on the door and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet as she waited for someone to answer.

The door flew open, revealing the younger of the Bishop duo. "Hey, Peter. I was supposed to come pick up…is everything okay?"

Peter looked flustered and he grumbled, "Walter invited Olivia over for dinner and he's completely losing it in the kitchen." He turned his head away and hollered out, "Walter! Astrid's here! She said she had to pick up…"

He looked at her and she told him, "Some Biology 2 papers."

"Some Biology 2 papers," he shouted back. "Where did you—"

Dr. Bishop appeared, looking just as agitated as his son. "You!" he barked, pointing at her. "In here now!"

She followed the Bishops back into their kitchen and surveyed the scene. "So what are we cooking?"

Peter tossed his hands up. "I really don't know."

"Yes, you do. Stop being a smart ass." Dr. Bishop looked at her and pointed to the array of uncooked food on the counter. "We're making rice with roasted chicken and carrots."

Astrid nodded, impressed. "Oh, that sounds really good."

"And a cherry cobbler for dessert," the teacher said pointing to a frozen pie on the counter.

Peter glanced over at her. "Are you staying?"

"Could I?" she shyly asked.

"Sure, why not."

Astrid smiled at the teacher, whom was smiling back at her. "Dr. Bishop, may I use your phone to call my mom? My cell phone's battery is dead."

* * *

After Astrid had called her mother to tell her where she was going to be, Peter commandeered the phone and announced, "Walter, I'm going to call for pizza. Have Astrid help you with the cobbler."

The Little Big Good Pizzeria was number two on speed dial and the Bishop address was more or less memorised by all the delivery boys.

"Hi, I'd like to place a to-go ord—

"Hey Peter," someone on the other end greeted.

"Oh hey, Larry," Peter said, scribbling with a sharpie on the notepad next to the phone.

"What's up, man? You're dad making weird food again?"

"Yeah, well I mean, no. We actually have company over tonight, so I figured that it would be better if we give them pizza instead of letting Walter poison them," Peter said, peeking into the kitchen to make sure his father hadn't actually heard him.

"The usual order?"

"No, we've got company. Cheese with extra anchovies and pineapple will not cut it tonight." He sighed, wishing he would order the Bishop men's favourite pizza without grossing out the two girls, but was more than willing to tough it out in order to impress Olivia. "Gimme three extra large pizzas, one pepperoni, one veggie, one Mediterranean. And one of those salad things."

"Thirty minutes, man."

"Thanks." Peter hung the phone back up and leaned his head into the kitchen again. "Dinner's on the way."

"Pizza, pizza!" Walter replied.

Peter stomped into the living room, where Olivia was patiently waiting on the couch. "I'm sorry this whole thing is turning to shit."

She smiled and shrugged. "It's okay. You guys didn't have to put all this effort into it. I would have been happy with grilled cheese sandwiches."

"I'll remember that next time." He sat down on the couch next to her. "I mean, if you ever wanted there to be a next time."

"Yeah, maybe," she said coolly, then her cheeks flushed slightly. "I mean, yeah, if it's not too big a deal."

"I've ordered pizza," he said with a nod.

Olivia, whom was flipping through the channels, asked a very good question. "Why are so many of the tv channels in Spanish? I thought you spoke Farsi."

He was so used to it that he had forgotten to explain to her their television's situation. "I ordered the wrong satellite package. Fortunately Walter likes watching his Austin Powers DVDs and we get the History and Discovery channel in English, so he can watch Monster Quest and UFO Hunters without a problem. I, on the other hand, am willing to tough it."

"By watching Transformers in Espagnol?" she teased.

He nodded, glad they were on the same page about foreign television. "For example."

"Cool. MTV in Spanish," she said, pausing on a channel showing a group rapping.

"Oh hey, the Man vs Wild marathon is still on. If you're interested in that sort of thing," he said, trying to sound like it was really no big deal.

She obviously took the hint and handed him the remote. "Sure. We can watch."

Astrid joined them a few minutes later. "The cobbler is cooking and your dad is cleaning the kitchen."

Peter gave her an appreciative look, thankful that she had taken care of a potential problem for him—he **hated** cleaning up after the man.

Olivia cocked her head as she studied the TV. "Hey, if that guy's been out there for two days so far, how come he still has the same five o'clock shadow?"

"Fake," Astrid proclaimed as she flopped down into the Laz-E Boy.

"Hey, if you have a problem with Bear Grylls, then you can leave," Peter said pointing the remote at both the girls.

Olivia turned her nose up in the air. "C'mon Astrid. Let's leave him and Mr. Grylls alone."

Astrid seemed to like debating and grinned slyly at him. "Oh, Peter, you know that this man is a total fake."

He glared at her. "Fine, if we all have a problem with Bear then we can always just watch Telemundo."

She smirked. "No, I want to see him eat that snake."

At the mention of something unusual happening, Walter appeared. "Who's eating a snake?"

"Bear Grylls," Olivia replied, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Walter sat down on the armrest of the couch and gave him a concerned look. "Peter, I thought that we discussed this man was a total phony."

"Who cares? I like watching him…okay, well that was obviously set up," he admitted as he watched Bear happen across a dead sheep that no doubt looked freshly slaughtered.

"I think it's cool," Dunham defended and winked at him.

Peter was relieved that she was on his side about this adventurer. While he had never believed in Santa Claus, Peter had absolute faith in this British fortune hunter, parachuting into exotic places, surviving off gross bugs, and using his wits to keep him alive. And any girl that was okay with Bear was definitely okay with him. Frankly, he thought it would be cool to live that kind of lifestyle.

Walter seemed a little surprised that Astrid was in the living room with them. "Oh hello! I didn't know you were here!"

Peter glared at his father. "Walter, she's **been** here. You wanted to give her some Biology papers or something."

"Ah, yes. Let me find those papers for you," he said getting up from the couch's armrest.

Olivia shifted in her seat as if she were about to jump up. "Dr. Bishop, could I look over that report I turned in on Wednesday? I realised I misspelled something on it and I wondered if I could correct it?"

"I don't usually allow that, but I'll make an exception for you because you're Peter's girlfriend."

Peter felt his face get red. "Walter, she's not—"

Olivia stared at her knees. "We're just friends—"

His father didn't seem to hear. "Come with me. They're in the study."

Astrid and Olivia followed after him and Peter rubbed at his temples, wondering if he would have a headache tonight. The doorbell rang and to somewhat of a relief it was the pizza delivery.

"Dinner's here!" Peter hollered as he paid for the food and carried it to the kitchen, where indeed his father had cleaned up most of the mess.

He found the fancy wedding china that his mother had never taken with her and set them out with the cut crystal glasses on the counter. He had no idea if he ought to serve juice or soda to their guests or if he was supposed to offer something healthy like milk or water?

"Fuck it," he grumbled as the girls and his father filtered into the kitchen.

"That smells so good!" Astrid said loudly as they began to serve themselves.

The doorbell rang again and Peter gave an irritated, "Who now?"

He went to the front door and opened it, though possibly the last person he had expected was standing on the front step.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Broyles," he greeted the principal of his school.

Broyles nodded and glanced past him. "Hello, Peter. Is your father home?"

Astrid peeked out from the doorway. "Hey Peter, c'mon the pizza's—oh hello, Mr. Broyles."

"Miss Farnsworth." Broyles raised an eyebrow as he looked a him. "Are you having a study party?"

Peter was a little unsure how to respond to the term "study party"; he never expected anyone to associate the outdated concept with him.

"Uh, yeah. Something like that," he mumbled. "Wait here while I get Walter."

In the kitchen where his father was offering Olivia a bottle of root beer, Peter pointed towards the direction of the front door. "Phillip Broyles is here to see you."

"If you'll excuse me," Walter said giddily, abandoning his plate as he hurried off.

"Feel free to pig out," Peter offered to Olivia as he put salad on his father's plate.

She laughed. "I don't pig out."

"I saw the way you ate at IHOP," he mumbled and Dunham playfully elbowed him as she took another piece of pepperoni pizza.

Walter returned and Peter handed him his plate.

"You okay, Walter?" Peter asked quietly, noticing his withdrawn demeanour.

"Yes, yes," his father mumbled as he took his plate of pizza back to the table.

The night obviously wasn't going the way he had anticipated, but as he listened to Walter telling hilarious stories about chemistry class and Olivia laughing so hard her ears turned scarlet, Peter decided maybe it could have been worse.

* * *

Once dinner ended and Astrid left on her bike, Peter suggested they leave. Though when they sat inside the Vista Cruiser, Peter looked at her and asked, "Do you have to be home right away?"

Olivia felt her heart skip a beat. "My curfew is eleven. Why?"

He nodded and looked as though he were trying to act casual. "Wanna hang out?"

Olivia was more than flattered that he wanted to spend more time with her and she gave an entirely too giddy, "Sure!"

He looked happy and backed out of the driveway, heading in the opposite direction of her house. "Cool, I know the perfect place."

They rode in silence, though their energy seemed to be more excited than awkward. And upon arriving at their destination, they exchanged shit-eating grins.

"Makeout Point. Classic cool," Olivia declared, smirking

"Makes me think about the Zodiac killer and all the young couples he murdered while they were in the throes of passion," he said casually, though not sparing an amused look.

"They never caught him, you know," she said quickly, gruesome crimes a bit of a passion for her.

"Maybe he'll spare us since we're not doing anything." Peter yawned loudly. "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to close my eyes for a moment. I'm exhausted."

Olivia hadn't honestly expected rampant making out, but she was still a little disappointed it hadn't been offered. "Hey, no problem. I actually have that Romeo and Juliet report I can work on."

"Seriously? You brought homework?" Peter asked.

She shot him a look as she dug through her backpack. "Oh, be quiet."

He looked down at his calculator watch. "Would two hours be okay? I'll have you home in time for your curfew."

"Sure."

Peter leaned the driver seat back, settling against the brown material and folding his arms across his chest.

"Sweet dreams," Olivia said, not looking up from her notebook.

He snorted and from there they were silent.

Olivia worked quietly, finding herself very inspired to write about love, family, and misunderstanding, her pen flying across her notebook, filling page after page. She was a little surprised that she was suddenly able to write about these topics after spending the past few days with writer's block.

'_It must be from the change in scenery.'_ She pondered a moment more. _'Maybe because I got to fix that paper I turned in to Dr. Bishop? Yeah, that's probably it.'_

Peter made a noise and Olivia saw that he was sleeping. She observed him curiously, having never actually watched someone other than her sister or her niece asleep. His brow furrowed and she wondered if he was like a parent with a troublesome child—Dr. Bishop did seem to be a handful after all. And she was curious if he planned on leaving his father's side anytime soon. She had to admire that about him—

Movement caught her eye.

"Hey, Peter." She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Peter. Wake up."

"Canada" he said with a yawn.

His response caught her off guard. "What?"

"Canada. I dreamed I was taking my Econ. final and the answer I was looking for was Canada," he explained.

"What was the question?" she asked.

"I don't know." He stretched his arms "What time is it?"

"You've only been sleeping for an hour, but I thought I saw a car coming up the road."

At that moment a patrol car appeared on the road and Peter groaned. "Uh oh. The fuzz."

She turned to him, absolutely horrified. "Oh shit. Peter, I can't get in trouble with the police—"

He held up a silencing hand. "Stay cool, Dunham. I'll take care of this."

Olivia's heart raced as she pictured her life's dream of being an FBI agent being denied because of getting in trouble and she hated herself for coming up here to Makeout Point and now she wished she was at home—

Peter hissed. "**Fuck**. I know him."

Her stomach twisted. "Shouldn't that be a good thing?"

"Not if he's the one who's arrested me twice," he grumbled.

She felt like throwing up. "Oh no…"

The policeman had finally reached the Vista Cruiser and Olivia rolled down the car window as a bright flashlight was pointed at her face and then Peter's.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favourite juvenile delinquent," a voice said coldly.

"Hello, Officer Harris," Peter greeted snippily.

The light was swung back in her face. "And it seems you have company."

"This is my girlfriend, Tess." Peter put a hand on her shoulder. "Say hello to the nice police man, Tess."

Olivia was a little stunned as she realised he was protecting her actual identity. "Hi."

The policeman didn't seem to care that she was being polite as he demanded, "Can I see some ID please?"

Olivia balked for a moment then inspiration hit. "Um, Peter, didn't I give you my wallet when we went to the movies tonight?"

Peter looked a little confused and then his eyes lit up. "Uh…Oh! Yeah, it's right here!"

He pulled the pink leather wallet out of the side of his door and passed it to her. Olivia rummaged through it and produced the fake license for the Harris.

"Here you are, officer."

The officer pointed his flashlight at the license and then aimed the beam directly at her face. Olivia squinted as he accused,

"This says your eyes are brown."

The lies seemed to be rolling off Olivia's tongue with ease. "I'm wearing contacts."

Peter leaned over to look at the surly man. "So as you can see, Officer, I'm not breaking curfew as I'm eighteen now and I'm doing nothing illegal."

"We're having a study session. He's helping me with a report I have to turn in on Tuesday," she said, holding up the notebook she'd been writing in.

"You're having a high schooler help you with a college paper," the officer stated skeptically.

"He already took the class at MIT," she pointed out.

The cop obviously couldn't find anything to bust them for so he simply snarled, "Get outta here, Bishop. You're only getting a warning this time."

"Until next time officer Harris," Peter said pleasantly as he started up the station wagon.

Olivia watched the policeman in the side mirror as they pulled away.

"Holy shit, that was intense." Her heart felt like it was going to explode it was beating so fast. "Thanks for not giving him my real name."

Peter gave a relieved sounding sigh. "I had no idea you were so quick on your toes. Good thinking about the wallet."

"More like good thing you like blondes," she muttered under her breath.

"You shouldn't be so sarcastic. It's your personality's unibrow," he said.

Olivia wasn't sure if she heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sarcasm. It's your personality's unibrow: a highly unattractive feature, if you know what I mean," he explained as he turned onto the main road.

"That's almost poetic, Peter," she said with a smirk, then slapped her forehead. "Oops. Sorry."

He didn't look at her, but she saw him smile. "And I see it's one of your habits."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well…"

They were quiet and Olivia how she had done for the night. Peter didn't seem like he was trying to get rid of her, but then again, maybe he was just a good liar. There were just too many things to consider—

"So did you take care of that report?" he asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"What? Oh, you mean the one your father had. Yeah, I corrected it," she said.

He nodded. "What did you spell wrong?"

"Minuend."

"Ah."

They pulled up in front of her house and Peter smiled sheepishly. "Sorry that was such a boring first date."

As they got out of the station wagon she wasn't sure what to say. "Oh, first date?"

He looked a little taken aback. "Well, yeah…unless you wanted something more traditional like dinner and a movie. Then this could be considered a trial-run date."

She smiled and said shyly. "I think it was a first date."

"Me, too." He waggled his eyebrows. "So, no kiss goodnight?"

"Oh, I uh," she sputtered, feeling her face get hot

"I was just kidding," he swiftly explained.

"Yeah, of course," she agreed just as quickly.

This evening's handshake seemed to last a little longer as Peter looked into her eyes. "I'll see you at school."

"Definitely," she decided.

Olivia couldn't stop smiling as she walked up the walkway to the house.

* * *

There was loud knock on the front door and Walter sashayed to the door, singing Pippen under his breath. He wondered if his little assistant was back for another piece of cobbler—it was very good cobbler, after all.

He pulled the door open and to his horror, realised it wasn't the girl with the very forgettable name.

"Hi, Walter," Tessa said coolly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if Peter was home?"


	3. Graduation!

**Chapter Title:** _A Very Fringe Graduation_

**Pairing: **_Peter/Liv, Liv/John Scott,_

**Characters: **_Astrid F, Olivia D, Peter B, Walter B, Charlie Francis, John Scott, William Bell, Betsy!_

**POV: **_Olivia, Peter, Astrid_

**Genres:**_ Family/Friends, Romantical, Humour, Angst,_

**Spoilers: **_It's AU, son._

**Warnings:** _None_

**Challenges:** _Graduation, Betsy!,_

**Part of a Series?:** _Yes, "A Very Fringe Holiday"_

**Word count: **_4346_

* * *

It was the last week of school, on the first Wednesday of June. Peter Bishop, soon to be graduating, was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to part his hair in the perfect way, but it was proving to be a little more complicated than he'd anticipated. His hair was just too short—

"Peter!" Walter called out. "Don't forget to feed Betsy!"

"I never do!" he yelled back.

He wet the comb under the faucet again and tried slicking his hair for what had to be the hundredth time that morning.

"I've cut up her cucumbers!" his father shouted from approximately the living room area.

"Okay!" he called out, irritated, still trying to straighten out his hair.

His father peeked his head into the bathroom and pleaded in a suffering tone, "Let me watch you feed her."

"Fine! Now get out!" Peter growled, shutting the bathroom door.

He muttered under his breath until there was a knock on the door and a hesitant, "Are you almost done?"

"God damn, Walter! If we feed her now, will you leave me alone?"

"Yes!"

Peter threw the comb into the sink, disgusted with the way his hair was acting. _'I should have let it grow long—then I could have had that fucking pompadour for graduation. __**That**__ would have been cool,'_ he thought bitterly as he examined himself in the mirror.

He threw the door open and his father yelped, having had his ear pressed against the wood. Peter glared at his father, but motioned for him to follow as he walked to their spare bedroom. The older man happily trotted behind him, spilling little bits of fruit all along the hallway. Peter opened the door and they walked into the sunlit room.

"Betsy!" Walter chirped happily as he ran over to a large glass terrarium on the south facing wall.

In the terrarium was a giant banana slug. Collected on a trip out to the Pacific California coast the summer his parents officially divorced, Betsy was the Bishop's only pet and did in fact look like a giant, bloated banana; on her slick body she had black spots the way the bruises on the yellow tropical fruit showed up. Though the Pacific banana slug usually only grows to nine and a half inches in length, this particular specimen had managed to reach a whooping thirteen and a quarter inches long. Peter really had no explanation to why their Betsy had grown so large, but he partially suspected it had to do with the LSD experimentations his father had liked to perform on the poor mollusk.

Peter misted off his hands with a bottle of distilled water then opened the glass lid and reached down to pet the slug, running his fingers along the slimy keel.

"Let me hold her!" Walter insisted, misting off his own hands and abandoning the bowl of chopped fruit.

Peter gently peeled the slug off the glass wall and handed her over to his father. He took it as an opportunity to clean out the old fruit and replace the water, straightening out the habitat for the slug. In a plastic bowl, Walter had made something of a salad with chopped kale, strawberries, and cucumbers, all foods that she liked to eat.

"She needs more cuttlebone," Walter observed, poking gently at Betsy's eyes.

"We'll write it down on the grocery list."

"Cuh-tul-bone," Walter sounded out, giving corresponding prods to the yellow creature.

Everything in order, Peter stepped away from the terrarium. "Okay, we should really be getting into the car right now if you want to get your McMuffin."

"Animalia Mollusca Gastropoda Pulmonata Stylommatophora Arionidae _Ariolimax coluuuuuuumbianus!" _Walter sang as he gently put Betsy back into her home.

As they left the study, the younger Bishop turned to his father and directed him on what they needed to do. "I have to grab some books really quick. You need to grab your pack and go wait for me in the car."

Walter held out his hand. "May I have the keys? I want to listen to the radio."

Peter dug the keys out of his pocket and warned, "Don't touch anything else."

"Thank you!" his father yelled out as he ran down the hallway to the Vista Cruiser.

"Grab your pack!" Peter hollered after him.

Within five minutes they were pulling out of the driveway, driving downtown to their favourite McDonalds. Pulling into the drive through, Peter rolled down the car window and gave the lit up menu a once over before a young woman's voice came over the speaker.

"Welcome to McDonald's. How can I help you?"

He leaned out the window. "Yeah, I'd like a sausage and egg McMuffin meal with a large iced tea."

"Ask for a second hash brown," his father whispered loudly.

"And another hash brown," Peter added.

"Yes!" Walter hissed quietly, pumping his fist like Tiger Woods.

"That'll be $4.88," the girl said.

As they pulled ahead only to stop behind a line of three cars, his father asked curiously. "Aren't you hungry, Peter?"

"I told you, I'm going to get something at Carl's Jr. Just like every other day."

Walter wiggled in his seat. "Are you getting a burrito? With egg and salsa?"

"Yep."

"Let me have your orange juice," he begged.

Peter shook his head. "No."

"Please?"

"Fine."

They moved up one more space and Walter fiddled around with the rearview mirror. "What will you be doing after?"

"After what?" Peter asked, pushing his father's hands away from the mirror and adjusting it back to where it needed to be.

"After graduation."

Peter had given some thoughts about how they'd celebrate, but nothing concrete. "I don't know. I thought we could go to dinner, if you wanted. Maybe Mexican? I know you like El Paso's enchilada sauce—"

"I meant for the summer. Will you be leaving me?" his father asked softly, looking at his knees.

They pulled ahead once more.

Peter shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and put on the spot. "I'm going to be here for the summer. I'm not going to college, you know that."

His father worried the corduroy wale of his trousers. "But what about after that? I don't want to be alone."

"I haven't decided," Peter confessed.

Walter somberly nodded. "Okay."

* * *

"Good morning, Agent Dunham," Peter greeted as they sat down together in English Honours; Ms. Sharp was running late to class and Charlie was busy chatting up a strawberry blonde named Sonia.

Olivia grinned broadly. "I really like sound of that."

He smiled back and repeated, "Agent Dunham."

"Awesome." Pushing aside her smug mood for a moment, she asked, "Hey, did you want to come over to my place to hang out before graduation on Friday?"

"Sure." He looked contemplative then said, "I'll come over after school lets us out and I'll stay for an hour or so, okay?"

"Cool. Would you want to have lunch with me?" she asked and immediately realised she was going to have to 'wow' him with her pathetic cooking skills.

"Yeah," he said with a smile and when Ms Sharp came in, they fell into a happy silence.

* * *

It was Friday, graduation day and after getting out of school early because it was a half day, Peter dropped his father off at the house, still sitting in the driver's seat when he announced, "I'm going over to Olivia's for an hour or so. Are you going to be okay here?"

His father's face lit up at the thought of being alone for the afternoon and he gave a gleeful, "Yes!"

"By yourself?"

Walter nodded. "Perfectly fine."

Peter doubted this. "You're sure."

"Absolutely!"

Peter handed Walter the house key hesitantly through the passenger door window. "You can call me on my cell phone or at her house. I've left both numbers on a sticky note on the fridge."

His father hardly seemed to be listening as he stared at the house key, mumbling, "Fine, fine, fine,"

"Walter," Peter said loudly.

His father jumped slightly, looking startled. "Yes?"

"Behave."

"I will."

"You'd better," Peter warned as he put the Vista Cruiser in reverse.

"I will!" Walter sang out.

* * *

Olivia sat at the kitchen table next to Peter, hardly able to chew her tuna sandwich with the grin she had on her face. Something about having him here was just so surreal; he was such a quiet person and it was nice to be able to spend time with someone without having to force conversation. Her stepdad was working at his desk in the living room and had (thankfully) been very polite to Peter.

Peter snuck another carrot stick off her plate as the front door slammed shut and Rachel came waltzing into the kitchen with shopping bags.

"Guess who just bought a whole bunch of really cute maternity bras?" she sang out, but stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Peter.

Her face turned an astounding shade of red and her eyes grew large, then she spun around and ran out of the kitchen.

Peter looked over at Olivia, whom was feeling just as embarrassed. "Who was that?"

"My sister. She has a baby," she grumbled.

"Oh," he said and passed a celery stick over to her.

She huffed and stood up from the table. "I gotta go check on her."

He nodded, grabbing the rest of her crudités off her paper plate. Olivia hurried off to her shared bedroom to find Rach, who was lying on her bed, face covered with her pillow.

"Hey," Olivia greeted.

"I feel so stupid," her sister wailed. "I can't believe I did that! That guy probably thinks I'm a freak."

"Rachel, you _are_ a freak," Olivia comforted which got a pillow tossed at her, "but I still love you."

Rach sighed. "So who have I embarrassed myself in front of?"

"Peter Bishop," Liv replied, a hint of a smile on her lips; she liked saying his name.

Her sister groaned loudly. "Just go. I want to die of humiliation alone, please."

"Okay." She tossed the pillow back at Rach's head.

Returning to the kitchen she found Peter making a second sandwich. "She okay?"

"Yeah, just embarrassed—" she started but was interrupted by the doorbell. "What now?"

She pulled open the door and saw the last person she'd expect.

"Hello, Liv."

Her eyes widened. "John! What are you doing here?"

He gave her a sideways grin. "I'm here for your graduation. It's today, right?"

She felt her stomach churn slightly. "Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"But you didn't show up for prom!" she blurted out, the old wound fresh again.

"I did show up, but you said—hello, sir."

Her stepfather had come to the door, obviously curious about who was there.

"Hello, John." Her stepfather glanced at her. "Olivia, are you going to invite him in?"

"No, I can talk to him on the patio." She stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind her.

There wasn't much she wanted to say to her ex-boyfriend, but words began spilling out of her mouth faster than she had ever intended. "John, you hardly called me before prom, you haven't called me since…you stood me up for god damn prom, John! For my prom! I paid a lot of money for the dress! And the tickets! You embarrassed me in front of my friends and family--I thought I was going to have to go alone!"

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Liv."

"No, you aren't," she insisted sadly. "That's the problem. Your career is more important to you and while I respect that, I can't be involved in that kind of relationship. I need someone who returns the exact same amount of attention. And I'm making demands, but I deserve it."

They turned at the sound of the kitchen window opening and to her surprise and somewhat relief, Peter popped his head out. "Is everything all right?"

"It's fine," she said and after he glanced between them a couple more times, pulled back into the house, though the window remained open.

John narrowed his eyes. "Who's that?"

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him her 'no-nonsense' look that she one day hoped to use on perps. "Peter Bishop. He's my best friend."

"Walter Bishop's kid? Really?" John gave the most disgusted look imaginable. "You think he's going to help you get into the FBI? You think that he cares about you? That he'll give you the amount of attention you want?"

Olivia shook her head and turned back to the front door. "I know he will, John. I don't owe you an explanation for what I do. I never did."

* * *

Astrid was dressed in her yellow prom dress, barefoot as she pedaled over to the Bishop house. Her sandals and the bouquet of daffodils she picked from out in front of the public library were safely rested in the wicker basket on her handle bar. Singing softly as the evening sunlight filtered through the neighborhood trees, she wondered if she looked like a sunflower and if that was actually lame because Dr Bishop was strange.

Sitting on the front steps of the porch was Dr Bishop, but he jumped up the moment he saw her ride up into the driveway.

"Hello, young lady!" he called out cheerfully.

The garage was open and as she put her bike inside she returned the greeting. "Hi, Dr Bishop!"

She presented him with the daffodils and he clapped his hands together. "Flowers!"

"For you. To say congratulations on Peter graduating." She followed him through the garage door into the house.

"Did you get something for Peter?" he asked curiously.

She nodded adamantly as he began to tug at the daffodils' petals. "Of course! But I'm not going to give it to him just yet—I want to surprise him at dinner."

Dr Bishop's eyes lit up. "What is it?"

She clutched her handbag closer and grinned. "A surprise!"

* * *

Peter sat in the bleachers the high school janitors had put up on the auditorium stage last night, feeling hot in his graduation gown. He'd already spotted Astrid, Walter, and his godfather William Bell sitting in the second row of chairs for the guests—faculty got the best seats so he didn't have to scan the entire crowd to find his family.

He looked back down at his knees. Mom wasn't there, though he hadn't actually expected her to be. But the makeshift band of people who'd shown up for him tonight made all the difference in the world.

Peter looked back up and gave them a quick wave as his name was announced, his knees a bit shaky as he hurried down the bleacher steps to get his diploma.

* * *

Olivia worried her hands as she watched the first person in her row get called down to receive their diploma—oh god, she was actually graduating! Slowly she began to count in her head to twenty-eight as a way to calm her nerves. Her name was called and her heart began to race like crazy as she made her way down the steps.

'_Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip, don't trip!'_ she thought to herself as she walked in her high heels.

Somewhere down in the crowd her sister gave out a loud holler of support and Olivia stumbled slightly. A warm hand shot out and grabbed her arm, steadying her and she looked over gratefully to see Charlie.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Just grab your diploma," he whispered back, letting her go with a smile.

* * *

"You eat like a pig," Peter accused and Astrid glared at him.

They were at the little Mexican restaurant that Walter liked, El Paso, enjoying a dinner after the graduation ceremony with his father, Astrid, and his godfather William Bell.

"Peter, you have spinach all in your teeth," she retorted.

He smirked. "Well, at least it's not orange grease all over my face."

Her cheeks flushed and she began wiping at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "Yeah, well, at least I'm not some dork who thinks I'm awesome."

"Well, at least I _realise_ I'm awesome, unlike you," he snapped then paused for a moment to think over what he'd said. "Wait a second. That wasn't an insult."

Peter's godfather seemed incredibly amused at the game they had of one-up the other and turned to the young man. "Peter, I would have thought you could do better than that."

Astrid held up the napkin she'd been keeping tally on. "That's three to five, Peter. I'm catching up."

Peter's godfather tapped his spoon against his wine glass and smiled as he had everyone's attention. "To the brightest young mind I've ever encountered and to the truest heart anyone could ever hope to find."

Astrid raised her glass of root beer and grinned at him. "To Peter's success, future, and long life, Mazel tov."

"May he never have a talent squandered," Dr. Bishop toasted, his free hand touching his.

Peter raised his iced tea. "To my family. They say that you can't pick 'em, but it seems I have and I couldn't find better people."

Astrid reached down to the tote bag she had on the floor next to her chair and pulled out the wrapped package she'd brought for her friend. "Okay, here's your gift. Careful! You don't want it bent!"

He looked at it skeptically, but tore off the tissue paper gently until his eyes became wide. "No way. No way!"

She was pretty smug feeling at the moment, knowing how awesome a gift it was. "I have an uncle who works in the publishing house Bear uses."

"Read it out loud!" Dr. Bishop said enthusiastically.

Peter held up the autographed photo to show everyone at the table and then began to read his hero's words to him. "To Peter, a true fan and fellow explorer. May the stars shine bright and may your natural compass always lead you to adventure. –Bear."

Peter, to her surprise, hugged her. "This is the best, seriously."

"You're welcome."

He glanced down at his watch and looked a little surprised. "Oh, hey. I've got to go get Olivia."

"That's his girlfriend," Dr. Bishop explained to Peter's godfather, who chuckled.

"Not my girlfriend," Peter grumbled before he hurried out of the restaurant

* * *

Olivia was a little surprised and a little pleased when she realised Peter was taking her out to Makeout Point once more. However, when he parked the station wagon he opened the door and she followed his lead, somewhat curious at what he was up to. She followed him out to the front of the car and when he climbed up on the hood, she wondered what was going on. He held out his hand to her.

"Mi'lady."

"Thank you," she said as he pulled her up with him.

He didn't let go of her hand though and helped her up onto the roof where they both lay down next to one another.

"Oh wow!" she gasped as she saw the stars above them.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"Really cool!" she said, absolutely delighted that they were doing something she totally hadn't expected.

"So how was your dinner?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Oh, you know, it was okay," she replied, shrugging against the cool metal of the station wagon. "Yours?"

"Pretty good."

There was silence between them and Olivia wondered what he was thinking about.

"Tell me something about yourself," she requested softly.

She glanced over at him and saw him staring at the stars with a pensive look on his face. "When I was nine, I wanted to be a dinosaur. Only you and my dad know now."

To be honest, she'd expected him to tell her his favourite colour or maybe that he liked pizza with extra cheese, not something that was actually personal.

"That's cute, Petersaurus Rex," she teased gently.

He sat up and looked down at her. "Olivia, if you ever repeat that name again, I will end you."

She held up her right hand, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "Never in public. Scouts honour."

His hand slipped into hers once more as he lay back down next to her. "What about you? Tell me something about yourself."

She thought for a moment. "In sixth grade I was in band. I played the oboe for sixth months before the band teacher pulled me aside after class and told me that maybe music wasn't for me. When everyone asked me why I quit, I told them it was because my instrument wouldn't stay in tune. Your turn again."

"I sing Rod Stewart's _'If You Think I'm Sexy'_, every morning in the shower."

She found the Big Dipper before admitting, "Sometimes I like watching the 'Land Before Time' films with my niece."

He gave a short laugh. "Yuck."

"I know," she agreed, somewhat disgusted herself. "And I was never scared of monsters in the closet as a kid, but now I'm terrified of Ed Geins living under my bed. Sometimes at night I'll really have to go to the bathroom, but I'm so scared he'll grab me by the ankles and drag me under, I'll just lie awake until morning."

He was quiet and suddenly she wondered if she had admitted too much or something too weird. _'Damnit, Liv. You shoulda just kept your mouth shut. Now you've freaked him out,_' she scolded herself. _'Why do you always have to talk about weird things?'_

But Peter wasn't weirded out and apparently had been trying to find the courage to admit something extremely personal of his own. "Last summer I took Walter to see Wall-E in the theatre and we ended up seeing it three times in a row that night. It was probably one of the happiest memories I have of us together."

Her head tilted over towards him once more. "Did he like the film?"

"Loved it." He sighed and her heart did flips as one of his fingers rubbed along her knuckles. "I also cried when I thought Wall-E died. Only the first time though."

The next thing Olivia had to say was more of a confession. "You know Hunt For Red October? I cry every time that one guy who wanted to raise rabbits and have two fat wives dies."

"Vasily Borodin?"

She blushed. "Yeah. That's why I didn't want to watch it last night. I didn't want you to laugh."

"I wouldn't have laughed. Compassion is a good thing." The next thing he said seemed to come out in one breath, as if he couldn't say it fast enough. "I can't wait to say 'I'm in love' and really mean it. You know, not just saying it to make someone happy or to hear it back."

She nodded, feeling her heart thumping violently in her chest. "Let me know when you do."

"I'm just a hopeless romantic trying to be a hardass." His thumb rubbed against the back of her hand, sending shivers up and down her spine before he looked over at her. "Hey maybe I should get you home?"

"Yeah, probably." She didn't want the evening to ever end, but she sat up, ready to get off the roof of the car. "This was really nice though. I can't remember the last time I got to see the stars like this."

He grinned at her. "Well, I'm happy to provide the service."

Once they drove into town, Olivia tried to hang onto the glorious golden feeling in she could only describe as 'euphoria', but the magic was broken when he pulled into a twenty-four hour pharmacy's parking lot. She gave him a confused look and he gave her a sly smile.

"Hold on and let me get something," he said as he got out of the station wagon and locked her inside.

'What could he possibly be getting?' she wondered, her mind running a mile a minute through possible purchases before she blanched. _'He's buying condoms, he's buying condoms, he's buying condoms!' _her mind screamed as her palms started sweating. Oh god, what should she say?! _'No, I can't because that would make it a rebound relationship'_ or _'I don't want to ruin what we have' _or _'You didn't even take me out to dinner tonight, I'm not going to put out yet'_ and suddenly she found her throat tightening as she realised she had used the word 'YET'.

To her horror, Peter returned to the station wagon much faster than she'd wanted him to and he had a small plastic pharmacy bag grasped tightly in his hand. He got back into the car and threw it at her before she could scream,

"_I'm not going to have sex with you!"_

She opened the bag and saw a nightlight; she looked back up at him.

"It's a graduation present. To, uh, keep the serial killers out from under your bed," he explained.

"Thank you." She smiled at him, knowing her cheeks were bright red. "I'll have to leave it behind when I go to the academy, though."

He shrugged. "That's okay. I don't think Ed Geins would want to hang out in Quantico anyway."

"Yeah, I'd already thought of that." She closed the bag back up and tucked it into her purse. "But it helps right now."

They spent the rest of the drive holding hands and when they pulled up in front of her house, she thought she would be the one with a witty remark tonight. As always he came around to her side and opened the door for her and as he walked up with her to the front door, she tried not to show her disappointment that the evening was already drawing to a close.

"No good night kiss?" she teased boldly, though it wasn't a far stretch to say she was very welcome to the idea.

"Don't play with fire, Dunham." He held her hand as they stood before her front door. "You'll get your kiss next time."


End file.
